God Breathing
by wintercreek
Summary: Spike/Willow friendship. Spike helps Willow begin to understand what's happened in her life. Fifth in the wintercreek chronology.


**Title: God Breathing**

**Author: wintercreek**

**Disclaimer: They're only mine in my dreams.**

**Spoilers: Through S6 finale.**

**Dedication: For Robert.**

**A/N: Spike/Willow friendship. A wintercreek twist on the standard "Spike and Willow help each other deal with the aftermath of Season 6" fic. Thanks to Claire Willet who wrote the one-act play "God Breathing," from which I take my title and some inspiration. Also, credit to Mary Doria Russell, whose book _The Sparrow had a hand in inspiring this as well._**

_Italic text denotes thought._

************

"How do you do it, Spike?"

"Do what, Red?"

"Live with blood on your hands."

Spike flinched involuntarily. She cut right to the point, that was certain. "Slowly. Carefully. That's how I live. I tiptoe 'round it, sometimes. Other times I walk deliberately right up to it. Look it in the eye. Mostly, I try to understand it."

"How?"

Their now-habitual talks were always like this, filled with the abruptness that comes from long introspection. Each often followed a long inner trail before arriving at the surface to speak with the other. Spike sighed and looked out at the skyline. They were seated together on Buffy's roof, of all places. With the coming of winter, night fell earlier each evening.

"Right then, before I tell you this, you need to understand a few things. First, I had quite a bit of time alone to contemplate this. Second, my soul . . . well . . . Victorian, 'nough said, ok?"

"Um, ok."

"Come with me."

************

_ Gigantic white building. Antibacterials and disinfectants. Night watch staff. And they all seem to know Spike somehow. "Spike, why are we in the hospital?"_

"Need to show you something." The vampire would say no more until they reached the nursery. Willow let out a small gasp of awe, always her involuntary reaction to newborn babies.

"They're so perfect."

"Yeah." Spike's face softened, and Willow thought, not for the first time in the past few months, that William should have become a daddy rather than a vampire.

"Ready, Red?"

"Sure."

"I want you to watch those babies for a bit. When you're ready, come out to the waiting area. I'll be there."

Willow stayed outside the nursery for half an hour, watching tiny fists lift and little toes wiggle. Then she turned and emerged into the waiting area. "I'm ready."

"Come here."

She crossed the room and sat next to Spike. "Yes?"

"Do you believe in God?"

"Well, I was raised Jewish, but I'm also Wiccan now."

"That's not what I asked. Do you believe in God? Or, I suppose, Goddess. Some kind of supreme creator being."

"Um, yes, I suppose."

"No 'suppose.' Yes or no."

"Yes."

"Ok, come with me."

Willow was left with the feeling that she'd passed some sort of test, but she had no idea where Spike was going with this. All that was left to do was follow again.

************

This time he led her downtown, to the National Guard building. They stopped outside, near the veterans' memorial. The omnipresent eternal flame burned brightly next to the list of Sunnydale residents who had served their country at the price of their lives.

Spike strode directly up to the memorial and knelt in front of it. A flick of a hand beckoned Willow to kneel beside him. "Read the names, Red. Run your hand over them, if you like. Talk to them. Make these people as real to you as the babies in that hospital."

Willow glanced at Spike, not entirely certain that he knew what he was doing, but she'd promised to follow orders and so she did. He stood again and moved back to allow her room to realize what stood in front of her, to understand it in her own way. She looked at the last names, matching up family who'd served. Three brothers, killed in World War II. That meant parents without three sons. A family that lost a man to each war, World War I through Vietnam. She thought of all the sweethearts whose young men didn't return to them. The MIA list was so long, she almost cried for all the loved ones of the missing men, all the people who would never know for sure what happened. Suddenly, Warren's face floated in the flame.

Turning to face Spike was an effort. "Why did you bring me here? So I'd feel guilty?" The anger came from everywhere and no where at all. "I was doing fine on my own; I already felt bad enough!" 

"C'mere Red."

"I have a name!"

"Willow. Come here."

She came, unwilling and distrustful. "What."

"I didn't bring you here to make you feel worse. I brought you here to help you understand."

"Understand _what, Spike? That people die? That __I made someone die?"_

"No, Willow. That you're hardly the first to lose someone. And you're hardly the first to kill. While that shouldn't belittle what you're feeling, you need to understand that you're not alone. Now sit."

She sat dutifully on the ground, facing the peroxided vampire. He loomed over her from his perch on one of the memorial benches.

"Turn. Face away from me and scoot closer."

Willow obeyed, only a little resentfully, and felt Spike's hands land on her shoulders and begin gently to massage the tension there. "Listen." The word came out as barely more than a breath. "Can you hear it?"

"Hear what?" Willow asked, her voice sounding inappropriately loud in her own ears.

And apparently in Spike's ears as well. "Shhhhh. Listen. God breathing."

The young woman couldn't repress a "Huh?"

Spike sighed and motioned that she should turn around and face him. "Maybe you've heard this, since you're Jewish. Maybe I've got it wrong, and you'll catch it. Anyway, I was told that the Jewish sages have a story. God created the universe and He was everywhere. There was no choice, no free will, because God was in and of everything. So He exhaled, and in the spaces He left empty life takes place."

"Oh."

"Everything is poetry, Willow. God's poetry. Or Goddess' poetry."

"Your soul is Victorian."

"Mmm, yeah. At any rate, the trick as I see it is to learn to feel the poetry. Touch the beauty of it."

"Spike, there's no poetry here. Look at all the lives ended. Think of all the pain!"

"Come on, Red. Time for one more change of venue."

************

_No no no no no. Please don't let us be going where I think we're going. No, Goddess, no. Silent words notwithstanding, Willow followed Spike right up the destination she expected and feared. Tara's grave. "There's no poetry here, Spike." A twinge of bitterness came through in the young woman's voice. "There was. Tara was light and life and love, the most beautiful poem that ever walked or danced or smiled at me. It's gone now."_

"That's where you're wrong Willow. There's always poetry."

Willow only looked at the headstone in silence. _Tara Maclay._

"Some of the greatest poetry is tragic."

A tear slipped down Willow's cheek. Soon her eyes were streaming and she was making little hiccupping sounds.

Spike stood by and let her cry, finally helping her to kneel, forehead bent almost to the ground. He rubbed her back, and when at last her crying fit was spent the vampire helped her to sit up.

"I don't understand, Spike."

"Shhhhh. Listen. God breathing." 


End file.
